


A Helping Hand

by Winklepicker



Series: Clydeland Chronicles [7]
Category: Crash Pad (2017), Kylux adjacents - Fandom, Logan Lucky (2017)
Genre: Bodily Functions, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Crack, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:00:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23963503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winklepicker/pseuds/Winklepicker
Summary: Clyde has a small accident on the loo. Stensland helps.
Relationships: Clyde Logan/Stensland (Crash Pad)
Series: Clydeland Chronicles [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1233800
Comments: 9
Kudos: 14





	A Helping Hand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AtlinMerrick](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AtlinMerrick/gifts).



Clyde Logan is a delicate flower. 

Oh, he’s seen things that’d make most people quake, seen his own hand shattered apart. It wasn’t the highlight of his life so far, perhaps the opposite of a highlight. A lowdark. That didn’t mean he hadn’t been morbidly fascinated by the bits he could see outside of himself that really ought to have been on the inside. It was objectively interesting, and that was just fact.

So when Clyde gave a small scream while sitting on the toilet, and then promptly vomited into his underwear, and then screamed again, it came as some surprise to Stensland.

“Clyde! Are you—what happened?” A Mr Bubble-covered Stensland—who had been lying like a stretched out U in the bath—was now hanging half out of the tub like a sudsy Gollum.

Clyde panted a few shallow breaths, his eyes panic-wide and his right arm stretched out of sight.

“Darlin’, what is it?” By now Fear had gripped its bony fingers around Stensland’s heart, just as it seemed to be doing to his other heart. The Clyde-shaped one. 

Clyde slowly focused his gaze on his ginger cream-pie and took a shaky breath in.

“I…” Clyde gagged. He swallowed, took another deep slow breath. “I went to wipe. But this paper is so thin. And my fingers went through. And now there’s shit on my hand. There is shit on my hand. ThereisSHITonmyhandthere’sfucking... shit… onmy… hand. Oh god! Fuck! Fuck! Gross! No! No. NO!”

Stensland Ó Caisín is tough as nails.

Oh, sure, he’s sometimes frightened of his own shadow. Literally. To be fair, he had been watching Mindhunter so he was ever so slightly on edge already. It was one time! And maybe he likes to be in his jim jams by 6 o’clock. And maybe he feels the need to ugly-cry when Dawson ugly-cries.

But when Clyde needs him, like Clyde needed him now, Stensland’s spine straightens and steels, his muscles—he had some—tense, ready to do what need to be done.

He climbed from the tub, graceful as a ragdoll, wet as a cloud. “Don’t you worry about a thing, my darling,” he said, grabbing the nearest towel and dipping it in the bath water. “I am on this like jam on bread!”

The hand first. Stensland, gentle as a whisper, wiped away the poo—the tiniest smear but who was he to judge—and then wiped Clyde’s giant paw dry with the clean end.

“Right, now. What’s going on back there?” he gestured down behind Clyde with the towel. “And there?” he pointed at the puddle of vomit in Clyde’s pants.

Clyde pouted up at him, his hair fluffed and flopped like a frightened cat. He shrugged.

Stensland gave a determined nod, pulled out a good wad of toilet paper and went to work for his dearest heart.

After he’d cleaned and polished and dried, Stensland—still naked as a mole-rat—stood back and beamed. “There now, clean as a whistle.” 

Clyde, still pouting but with grateful love, batted his eyelashes and held out his hand. “I’m still feeling kind of dirty, baby, and you never finished your bath…”

Stensland grinned and helped Clyde up and out of his clothes. His delicate flower was about to get nailed in the bathtub.

**Author's Note:**

> Someone... names no names... asked for this. Look what you made me do 😁


End file.
